CHAPTER 16
Hannah is home already by the time we arrive. “How was your first day of work?” she asks me brightly from the tri-seat as I somewhat dejectedly follow Julie into the rookery. Across her lap is a quilt square; she’s sewing.
She is so happy that I don’t want to make her sad by telling her how I ruined my coworker’s surprise and earned the ire from all of my coworkers who were hoping to surprise her. I also don”t wish to sadden her by sharing the upsetting news that my coworkers have selected an appellation for me: that mama”s boy prick. “Parts of it went fairly well,” I tell her, settling on the most positive thing I can admit. “How was yours?”
She pets Saphkarra, who is stretched out along Hannah’s thigh, but Saphkarra jumps down from the tri-seat without a backward glance. She pads over to me and stops at my feet, staring up at my face.
I reach down and pick her up, instantly grateful to hold something soft and warm and comforting. I wish I could hold Hannah like this, but that Saphkarra is allowing me to hold her instead is a gift. After a deep, calming inhale, I open my eyes and look across the room at my mate.
“My day,” she says, setting her sewing aside, her face animated, her gaze on me. “Was really good. I talked to the owner, and again, she said she wouldn’t hire anyone—”
Julie, her stylish heel straps hanging from her finger, squares off with Hannah—without claws bared, from across the room and with the low oblong coffee table and a chair between them—and speaks to my mate in a way that sounds oft-recited. “You need to stand up to her. Be assertive. You’ve got to, Hannah. Not just for this job, but life. Use this job as practice and tell the person who is taking advantage of you that you”re done taking it. Then stand firm on what you need.”
Hannah rises from the long upholstered tri-seat furniture, waving her hands in an open gesture. “I know! And Julie, get ready to be proud of me—because I did!”
Julie drops one of her shoes. She doesn’t seem to notice. “You did? I mean good for you!”
Bending, I retrieve Julie’s shoe, and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she mutters.
I pet a purring Saphkarra, and move past Julie to take a spot on the long upholstered tri-seat furniture next to Hannah’s work. “You are welcome.”
“Yes!” Hannah says animatedly. “I stood up to the boss. I told her right to her face that I was taking a stand—”
Julie covers her eyes with one of her hands, a high-heeled shoe resting along the lower half of her face
“—and that she needed to hire someone for the pet store.” Hannah turns a thrilled smile on me, and I give her a wan one in return.
Julie is moving for her room. Over her shoulder, she calls, “And what did she say?”
Hannah raises her voice to carry down the hall after her. “First she said she’d have to cut my wages in order to afford someone else. I said if she tried that, she’d have to come down and work as a cashier in both her stores, because I’d quit and then she’d have nobody to run things but her. She got a really mean look on her face, then she asked me if I had any applicants I liked. I told her to hire Jonoh.” She sits back down, practically beside me, only her quilt square between us. She gives me a hopeful look and speaks to me now. “Since no one else applied, you should get the job!”
Julie returns to the common social activities room and approaches us, raising her hand to indicate that she would like to offer Hannah a high-five, a hand slap gesture often practiced by the humans who reside on my planet. “Hannah!” Julie cries. “That”s awesome! What did she say to that?”
Hannah stands up from the tri-seat to accept Julie”s offer of a high five, slapping her hand. “She said she”ll think about it.”
Julie deflates.
“What?” Hannah asks her. She looks to me for support. “That”s not a no.”
“It is not a no,” I agree loyally.
Julie’s mouth is a grim slash. “It isn”t a yes either.” Then she shakes herself and declares, “But hey, you’re learning to be assertive. Good for you. Keep practicing. Stick to your guns.”
Hannah nods. She turns to me and my cat, and smiles. “Saphkarra is happy to see you,” Hannah tells me.
“I appreciate you translating that look she’s giving me,” I say, watching my feline, who is now perched on the arm of the sofa, staring at me imperiously.
A twinge of discomfort gnaws at my wings, which are unnaturally pinched between my body and this furniture not built for winged beings. I shift, but my wings are still uncomfortable. Twisting, I contort and adjust myself to where my back is somewhat supported by the sofa’s arm that my feline is resting on, and then I fit both of my wings over the arm on the far side of her, allowing them to sprawl to the floor.
Facing Hannah again, I feel a measure of relaxation at last. I give her the first real smile I’ve been able to manage since arriving back at the rookery. “Hello, Hannah.”
“Hi, Jonoh,” she says shyly. She picks up her quilt square. “Can I interest you in quilting with me?”
“You can,” I tell her.
Not content to have my back apparently, Saphkarra daintily steps onto my shoulder, crests over it, and thuds into my lap. She turns an expectant look up at me. I stroke her carefully.
“You aren’t going to break her,” Julie observes, taking a seat in the stuffed chair across the small room. She has her device in her hand, although she must not be paying her full attention to it if she can see my cat.
“I should hope not.” I test stroke along Saphkarra’s spine, and find her purring increases in volume and vibration. “I’m taking care not because I fear she would break but because I”m attempting to learn what caresses she needs in order for her to purr the loudest. I believe the louder she purrs, the greater satisfaction I’m making her feel.”
“Did you just lick your chops?” Julie asks.
“I don’t think she did,” I say, suddenly peering at Saphkarra in confusion.
“Yes, I did,” Hannah confirms.
I look up in surprise to find Hannah watching me, her quilt square abandoned. And the look in her eyes makes my entire frame tense.
Julie, not even attempting to hide that she’s watching us, is smirking.
Saphkarra alights off my lap, then the tri-seat. Stepping silently, she moves toward Hannah’s room. Before she gets far, she sits and turns her head to look at me from over her slender shoulder. “Mew.”
I rise to my feet. “Excuse me, Hannah. I think Saphkarra is telling me that she needs food.”
When I reach the bathing and cleansing unit where her food dish is kept, however, I find it full.
I pick up a morsel to inspect, wondering if there’s something wrong with it.
Saphkarra presses her cheek against my hand. She rubs her face along my hand until she reaches my fingers. Pulling back from them, she eyes what I’m holding for her, then she delicately bites the kibble from between my fingers.
Blinking, I take up another piece and hold it out to her in offering.
Daintily, she accepts this one too.
I’ve managed to convince her to consume nearly half of her dish when Hannah pops her head into the open door of the bathing and cleansing unit. “Jonoh? Is something wrong with Saphkarra?”
“I don’t think so.” I offer my pet another kernel.
“Wait. Jonoh—”
I freeze in offering Saphkarra her next piece.
Saphkarra shoots Hannah a miffed glare.
“Sorry! Sorry! Unfreeze! You can feed her, I was just…” Hannah chuckles. “I just couldn’t believe that your cat is being such a princess that you have to hand feed her.”
Saphkarra puts her paw on my hand and I pause to decipher what she needs. “Would you like the moist, mechanically separated cage-raised fowl bites?” I set down her dry kibble and reach for one of the cans of food. I open it and take up the spoon beside her food dish, then offer her a morsel.
Saphkarra deigns to take it.
Hannah sighs happily. “You are so good with her.”
I flush with pleasure.
But Julie strolls into the bathing and cleansing unit, shaking her head. “Jonoh, dude. You would be catnip to a power-mad woman. And she would ruin you. Hannah, you need to save him.”
“I will,” Hannah purrs, making me drop Saphkarra’s spoon.
Saphkarra draws back an increment, glaring up at me with disgruntled disapproval.
“My sincerest apologies,” I say quickly and rush to retrieve her spoon, rinse it at the hand washing basin, and return to her to feed her—but she’s either too full or too offended, because when I arrive back in front of her, she stands, turns her back to me, puts her tail in the air, and walks away.
“Please let me know if you change your mind and require further feeding,” I call after her.
When I look over at Hannah, she’s gazing at me in a way I like very much.
Julie though is covering her face. “I can’t even.” She backs out of the bathing and cleansing unit, and Hannah gives me a long look before strolling out too. I follow her, staring at her and attempting to quell my instinct to lunge for her.
After a moment, I manage to wrestle the impulse down. It might be easier to control my instincts if I weren’t watching Hannah’s backside, because the sight of her luscious posterior for some reason tests my self-control to an extreme degree.
There is no chance of me looking away.
Julie is still mumbling into her hands as she shuffles into the common social activities room. “Is it just me, or does Jonoh’s innate subservience make you sad?”
Still staring at Hannah, I point out, “I am not sad. I’m intensely happy in this moment.”
Hannah glances over her shoulder at me, and she doesn’t look surprised to find that I’m staring at her. She smiles at me.
“Intenselyhappy,” I repeat, making Hannah’s smile widen.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Julie mutters.
“Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva is an unfortunate condition wherein sufferers experience their soft tissue organ systems forming into rock solid bone,” I blurt compliantly.
Hannah beams at me. “You’re adorable.”
Julie lowers her hands, revealing her face, the features of which have twisted in a grimace. “That’s terrible!”
I dip my chin. “I feel sorrow and compassion for sufferers of fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva also,” I share.
“I meant you!” Julie nearly shouts. “We can’t even talk to you without making you do things against your will. What is wrong with your planet?” She stomps into the food preparation area.
Hannah follows her, and I follow Hannah, explaining, “Not everyone on my planet is like me. Only a portion of hobs. Definitely not Gryfala. And certainly not Rakhii.” I frown thoughtfully. “They are technically capable of obeying commands. But it”s a rare thing for them to do, and they often seem amused when they do it, as if they are humoring us.”
“Whatever,” Julie grumbles. She fills a glass of water from the washing station with an air of agitation. She gulps it down, sets her cup on the counter, then sullenly moves for the common social activities room again where she throws herself down on the tri-seat. “That’s it. Need to unwind here. I’m not happy and I need to be fed imitation happiness until I feel satisfied.”
Hannah, after offering me a glass of water—which I accept with a treasuring air, touched—leaves the food preparation area and drops down beside Julie, patting her leg. “Why don’t we watch a movie? Everything will be new to our resident alien.”
“Not true,” I correct. I”ve trailed after her, hoping to sit one quilt square away from her on the tri-seat again. “My apologies for interrupting. But I have seen many movies. I like most of them.” Then I frown. “Except for Beauty and the Beast.”
Both females turn and gape at me. “WHAT?!” they both gasp, practically in unison.
I shake my head at them in consternation. “Why do human females like this film? It teaches abominable values.”
“Like what?” Julie asks, completely perplexed. “Marry the man who gives you a library?”
I scoff. “Who knows if the books therein were even ones she enjoyed? Would you be pleased if you married a man for his library only to find it stuffed with stories not to your taste?”
She shrugs. “I could always replace the books. Hell, I could replace the man. I just want his library and good sex. Is that so much to ask?”
Wisely, I say nothing to this obviously rhetorical statement. But I feel driven to address the other issue that is so concerning within this movie they are championing. “The film supports abduction and keeping women captive. The ‘hero’ of the story,” I use liberal finger quotes like the humans I know have taught me, “employs the use of psychological conditioning, specifically triggering Stockholm Syndrome to break his curse. This film is then shown to generation upon generation of impressionable young males and females. Children grow up believing that princes forcing females to be their captives in their libraries is romantic!” My voice has raised appreciably by the time I finish laying out my concerns.
Hannah is covering her mouth with her hand. But confoundingly, her eyes are dancing. When she lowers her hand, she is biting her lips, suppressing a smile. “Okay, I like your mind, but you’re wrong.”
“How?” I ask flatly.
“Well, it’s really the reality you’re struggling with so you have to enter the world of pretend with us. Once you’re there, remember it’s all magic so it’s all okay,” she claims.
“And he’s a beast, so that’s extra hot,” Julie adds, attempting to further explain their madness.
I groan. “I have heard this argument countless times. It will never make sense to me.”
“That”s fine. Super tall chivalrous aliens like you are not the target market,” Julie says, moving from the tri-seat to one of the overstuffed chairs. “Sit down next to Hannah, Jonoh.”
Immediately I do as she ordered.
Saphkarra hops into my lap, evidently no longer holding a grudge for my careless faux pas and blunders during her feeding session.
Hannah hisses. “Julie, don’t make him do anything else!” To me, she turns and pats my hand. “You don’t have to sit here.”
“I do want to sit beside you,” I admit.
“Then you can stay,” she says with a brilliant smile.
“We’re watching Beauty and the Beast,” Julie announces.
I growl. And it’s a shame I miss the way Hannah’s eyes darken as I do. “May I be excused so that I may cook food for us and heat popcorn kernels?”
Hannah shocks me by taking my hand. “Jonoh, you can go if you want to go—and you don’t have to wait for permission. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says seriously.
“We have to pay the IRS,” Julie points out.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Hannah tells her. Then she looks back at me. “Did you say popcorn? You know what popcorn is?” she asks in wonder. “And you know how to make it?”
“All I require is a cooking pan with a lid—” I start.
She smiles at me anew. “We have the microwavable kind.”
“Oh!” I brighten. “I’ve heard of this more convenient form, but I’ve only ever had access to the type of beaker-heated popped corn created in the lab.”
“The lab…?” Julie begins, brows crashing down.
“Shhh,” Hannah chides.
“No, Han, when your alien says he’s creating food for you in a laboratory, you need to press him for details,” Julie starts.
Hannah gives my hand that she’s clasping a gentle squeeze. “Want to make a meal, then pop some popcorn with me?”
I stare into her eyes, besotted. “I do.”
***
Hannah and I opt to layer meat and condiments between split rolled bread slices for ourselves and Julie. Then we pop kernels together. My mate is choosing to spend quality time with me.
“It is stunningly time efficient to subject popcorn kernels to electromagnetic radiation,” I say admiringly as we carry our meals and bowls of butter-glossed, steaming kernels to the living area.
When we reach the tri-seat, Hannah pulls out a basket from under the small end table nearest to where she was sitting earlier. It’s full of cloth squares partially sewn together. With her elegant sock-clad foot, she scoots it along the floor, stopping when it rests near the middle of the tri-seat. “When we’re done with our popcorn and we’ve washed the butter off our hands, I’ll share my quilting basket with you.” She gives me a shy look. “That is, if you’d still like to quilt with me while we watch this movie.”
“I would love to,” I say, staring down at her. An ache is forming in my wing joints. Not because of my confining garment this time or the unforgiving seating options for wingless persons, but because I want to wrap my wings around Hannah and never let her go.
Rather than wing clasp my new mate, I sit down beside her. And Hannah, myself, and Julie eat as we’re subjected to the extremely disturbing movie that not only employs abhorrently obvious Stockholm Syndrome conditioning—it glorifies it.
I escape to wash my hands free of food crumbs and popcorn butter and return so that I can stab a needle into something. Repeatedly. “I’m ready to quilt,” I announce, with an air of challenge to Hannah, feeling quite provoked to aggression and looking forward to taking up sharp instruments against fabric.
“Yay,” she says, and she leaves to wash. She returns, turns on the lamp that extends over the tri-seat to illuminate our workspace, then activates the globe light overhead to better illuminate the room, whose window light is waning, and then she excitedly begins pulling out squares and supplies for me. It touches my hearts, how welcoming she is, and how much she enjoys crafting with me. We sew for a span, and what plays on the television mercifully dulls to background noise as I revel in this closeness with my mate.
“You guys hankering for something sweet?” Julie asks.
“If I was, watching this movie would not satisfy,” I reply.
Hannah snickers. To Julie she says, “Nah, but thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Julie disappears into the food preparation area while the ‘hero’ on the screen—a hirsute version of a Rakhii—roars abusively at the heroine as she attempts to help disinfect his wounds. After she rescued him from where he passed out from blood loss in the snow.
I grind my teeth and concentrate on the sewing project between my hands, not the nefarious drama playing out on the screen.
I’m positioned on the sofa, my back to its arm, with Hannah settled in front of me so that the side of her thigh is against my folded legs. I’m so relaxed in her presence, it’s a struggle to keep my wings held with enough tension to keep their insides from smearing the sofa fabric.
Julie putters around the food preparation area, commandeering the electromagnetic radiation unit, called a microwave oven. The intermittent beeps that signal its operation abruptly cut off as she opens the door, drags something off of the heavily textured glass turning tray, then slams the door shut.
A cloud of scent wafts toward me.
I sit bolt upright. My wings make popping sounds as they spring open, talons raised.
“Jonoh? What’s wrong?” Hannah asks.
“What is that scent?” I ask. I get to my feet in a rush.
“What scent?” Hannah asks.
Julie enters the living area, carrying a plate. She halts and frowns at me when she sees that I’m staring at her. “Problem?”
On her plate are two rectangular squares that I can only assume are semisweet crackers. Sandwiched between these buff-colored squares are chocolate bars, which are as necessary to the diet of human females as coffee, if you believe the claims of the colony of humans on my planet, and—
My nostrils flare. Because oozing over the chocolate bar is a deflating, white, insidious substance I’ve never seen up close, but I recognize absolutely. Voice heavy, I ask, “Have you made… s’mores?”
“Yeaaah,” Julie replies, brows nearly touching. “I’m gonna ask again—you got a problem?”
I have to force my lip not to curl. “They smell like burn victims,” I tell her stiffly.
“What?” she sniffs, and so does Hannah. Julie quickly takes her seat and stuffs one of her disturbing treats in her mouth, staring at me as if I’ve gone mad. “They do not! They smell perfect. They taste perfect. Shut up.”
“Jonoh,” Hannah says, touching my arm. I look at her. “You don’t have to shut up.” She moves to stand beside me. “Why do you think they smell like burn victims?”
I gesture to Julie’s plate, where she’s lifting the second s’more to consume it. “Because my people’s skin smells like these treats when we are burned.”
“That’s unpleasant,” Hannah remarks faintly. “That would ruin s’mores for me.”
“Not me,” Julie says, licking s’more off her fingers. “This shit would still be good, even if burnt people smelled the same. It’d probably train me to become a cannibal.”
“I worry about you,” Hannah says.
“I am fine,” I tell her.
“I meant Julie,” Hannah tells me apologetically, but she touches my arm again and says, “But I’m worried about you too. Sorry it smells alarming to you.”
Exhaling, I give her a nod. “It’s all right.” I turn back to the tri-seat, and find Saphkarra has appeared precisely where I was previously sitting. I gallantly scoop her up and set her in my lap, returning to my quilting.
Smiling, Hannah pats my knee and retakes her own place. “This is nice,” she says.
My knee glows with delight.
Behind her, the animated film is attempting to brainwash us into accepting unhealthy relationships, but besides the iniquitous entertainment—and s’mores, I think darkly, shooting a look at Julie’s now-empty plate, which is sitting innocuously on the low oblong coffee table that spans the small width of floor between us—spending time with my mate is nice. “I agree,” I say to Hannah, reaching over and taking her hand.
Looking into my eyes, she gives my fingers a squeeze.
***
I don’t really watch the movie. I watch Hannah, who is grinning and snickering at whatever look is shaping my face as the audio floats to my ears and I’m enchanted.
Not by the movie; it is a terrible representation of romance.
I’m enchanted with Hannah. I adore spending such an extended amount of time in close proximity with her, even if we are treated to an unnervingly romantic portrayal of an emotionally badgered heroine who bonds to an individual who displays a disturbing number of emotionally abusive, alarming, and narcissistic traits. Then the movie is finally over and we retire to our room and it’s a horrifying repeat of the previous evening where I become so nervous I purr my mate to sleep.
Distressingly, I hear a thud next door directly after I’ve neutralized Hannah.
I rush to Julie’s room and find her in an unconscious heap on her floor beside a decorative stand and tank full of captive domesticated fish she was evidently attempting to feed.
Wings shivering with panic, I consider what this means. My purr travels through the thin bedroom wall with potency, apparently. It must have happened yesterday too, but because she was already positioned in her bed for sleep, none of us realized it.
I carefully place Julie on her mattress, arrange the covers over her, and clean up the spilled flakes on the floor, sprinkling a measure of them over the top of the water before returning the remainder to their container. Then I place the container on the nightstand, turn off the light, and exit the room, quietly shutting her door behind me.
Feeling terrible that I’ve purred both females unconscious for what must be the second time for both of them, I climb into bed beside a softly snoring Hannah. As I guiltily wrap my arms around her now-harmless form and pull her against my chest, I try to tell myself that if one is looking for precious metal linings, at least both females should report excellent sleep.